


The Story of McClane's Life

by megyal



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-22
Updated: 2008-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:58:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're the wrong guy at the wrong place at the wrong time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of McClane's Life

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. And first Die Hard fic! YAY!

_Major Grant: You're the wrong guy at the wrong place at the wrong time.  
John McClane: Story of my life.  
-Die Hard 2_

*

_Wrong guy_

*

McClane lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply, exhaling as he peered up at the kid's window. Lucy had been bugging him for days, _I haven't heard from Matt in a while, you think he's ok, you think he's in trouble again, suppose he's in trouble, Dad, he might be in trouble and we don't know, you think you can go over by his place and check it out, you know, because he did save my life and all--_

Blah blah blah.

To preserve his ears and his sanity, McClane finally gave in and drove all the way over to the kid's apartment; he'd been taking a few quiet minutes before he went up and beat on the door, just him and this sweet little cig, when the lights came on suddenly. Matt must have just come in; McClane couldn't have seen him from the parking spot he managed to snag, which was not optimal, but it couldn't be helped. He sat in his cooling car, watching with a furrowed brow as shadows flitted across the curtained window.

Shadows that looked like there was some sort of struggle going on.

Before McClane could even take the time to think, he was already sprinting across the parking lot, frosty air huffing out of his mouth. He raced into the main entry and didn't even waste any time on the fucking elevator; he just pounded up the stairs to the second floor, hand pressed to his side, feeling the cold, reassuring weight of the gun under his fingertips.

"Kid!" he bellowed as he reached the door, not surprised that the gun was in his hands, raised up to his left ear, ready to roll. There was music playing loudly, no doubt to mask whatever felony happening inside. "Kid, I'm coming in!"

He raised his foot and kicked the door nearly off its hinges; it actually bounced off the wall of the short entry-way.

"Get off him!" he roared at the man menacing the kid, the both of them tussling on the couch; he squared the perp's muscled back neatly in the sight of his gun. "Get off him, get on the ground! Get on the fucking ground!"

"Are you out of your fucking _mind_?" Matt was yelling as the baldheaded guy rolled off him and tumbled onto the floor. "McClane! What the fuck?"

McClane's brain abruptly caught up with the rest of his adrenaline-filled body and he stared at them both, breathing like a fucking freight train. Matt was dressed only in a pair of dark underwear, the waist of the boxers pulled dangerously low. His hair was still hippy-long and hanging in his eyes as he struggled up to his elbows to gape in shocked exasperation. McClane's mind helpfully catalogued interesting details about Matt's body: pale skin _everywhere_, slim hips and thighs, chocolate-dark nipples. His lips were red and swollen; as McClane continued to inspect Matt more hungrily than he thought he should have, he flushed as red as his mouth, sparing a quick glance down at the other half-naked man currently sprawled on his floor.

Oh. Oh, fuck, ok.

The other guy was some kind of body-builder type, solid mass packed into a fairly average stature, a bald-head gleaming in the low light of the small living room. McClane's eyes flicked from his worried face to Matt's neck and shoulders, where crimson bruises, the shape of a hungry mouth, flourished in a bright trail.

McClane felt something curl deep in his stomach as Matt twisted and fumbled with something on a nearby side-table and the loud music switched off, leaving them in an awkward silence.

"Um," the muscle-man on the ground finally said warily as McClane replaced his gun in the holster and allowed his body to relax, just a little. "Am I under arrest? He told me he was over eighteen, I swear."

"Seriously, Bill, I don't look _that_ young," the kid snapped, seeming to locate his zing. He scrambled into a sitting position and grabbed at a large cushion, unsuccessfully trying to shield his body; it was kind of cute. "McClane. Dude, do I owe you money? What did I ever do to you?"

McClane raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "You might want to take a look at your door," he finally said, inclining his head a little back towards the mauled entry. "It's a bit shaky."

Matt sputtered predictably. "What? Well, yeah! I mean, I should have known that the first time I was going to get some in, like, _forever_, John McClane would come blasting through my door like a rhino in heat."

"John McClane?" Bill the muscle-guy rumbled, standing up and grabbing at a pair of jeans to yank them on, before finding a tight white t-shirt. "_The_ John McClane? Wow, it's an honor, man, I've read all about you. You're a hero, man. My aunt was on Flight 86 from Chicago when Dulles got fucked. My mom's younger sister, she's my favorite."

"Oh, my god," Matt groaned, burying his face in his cushion as Bill shook John's hand heartily. "Literal fanboying. I want to ask if it can get worse, but I'm afraid to."

John ignored this. "Look, you think I can talk to Matt for a minute, alone?"

"Oh! No, man, take all the time you want, Mr. McClane. Can I call you John?" Bill literally beamed at John's genial nod. "I'm just gonna take off. I mean, I'll see Matt at work tomorrow, right?"

"Right, right," John said softly, blinking as the guy bent forward and kissed Matt, one hand cupping the kid's chin, tilting his face up. Matt accepted the kiss quite comfortably, even with a small, affectionate smile, shy at the edges as Bill walked out the door.

Matt cleared his throat. "So, hi. Any way I can help you on this fine night? Although I'm sure you have a quota to fill, of kicking doors open at midnight. Don't let me keep you."

John rolled his eyes. "Lucy was worried."

"Sure! I get that. But does no-one believe in the power of a phone-call anymore?" He got up with his cushion and skittered around John to inspect his door. McClane got a good eyeful of Matt's ass as he leaned to peer closely at a hinge.

"Considering your hot gay tryst, you didn't have to answer," John pointed out. Matt looked over his shoulder, eyes wide.

"McClane. _John_. If Lucy calls, if _you_ call, no matter what I'm doing, I'll answer." He looked a little hurt. "I thought you knew that."

John did, but he wouldn't tell the kid that it felt better seeing him face to face.

"That's it?" Matt straightened up with his cushion, and stared at John. When did his eyes get so big and brown? "Cause I could go get less nude and I have this movie, if you want--"

"That's it, kid," John said with a small smile. "I need to check by the station."

"Oh." Matt bit at his lip and then blurted, "Is it the gay thing? Cause it's just something that recently happened, I don't know if I'm like, _extremely_ gay or like diet gay, but I think I might have--"

"It's not the gay thing." John backed towards the door, and gave it a quick look. It seemed reasonably fine; the kid could put the chain on tonight and maybe put a chair against it. "I could come over tomorrow and check the lock mechanism on this."

"Okay." Matt sounded subdued as John stood in the doorway. Before John could make an easy break for it, he spoke up again. "That dude, Bill. My co-worker. We… we were just fooling around. I know I wouldn't want to go, uh, all the way." He stared at his bare feet for a moment; John looked down at them too. They were pleasant-looking feet, well-shaped and nicely arched. Kind of elegant, surprisingly so. John looked up and found that Matt was giving him an intent look. "I mean. Not with him."

John stared at him. "I like your cushion," he managed and set off down the hall as quickly as he could.

*

_Wrong place_

*

McClane eyed the building schematics of the bank currently under siege and rubbed at his eyebrows with the fingers of one hand as a frosty November breeze tried to sneak into his jacket. So, every time there was some sort of terrorist attack or hostage situation, they'd call him? Great; it was both gratifying and annoying.

Some FBI agent was hovering by his arm and McClane turned to him with raised eyebrows.

"Your boy is here, McClane," he said in a tone ripe with skepticism and McClane was just about to tell him that Matt wasn't _his_ boy, but he didn't. For some strange fucking reason, he didn't.

"You better hope for your sake he's as good as you say," the agent was griping as they headed towards another mobile command post in the midst of all this activity. "He's just a kid."

"He's good," McClane said loyally and peered into the back of the vehicle; Matt was already hunched over a keyboard and a small screen, tapping out commands. "Got anything yet, kid?"

"Yeah," Matt called back, leaning close to type furiously, as if in attack. "I got a lock on who they're communicating with from inside the bank. I'll give you a location in… ok, you got a pen ready?"

McClane smirked at the agent, who shrugged in grudging apology and took down the location that Matt rattled off, before storming off to round up some other personnel. McClane stepped up into the warm interior of the vehicle; Matt turned to give him a grin.

McClane felt his face crease into a frown, and without thinking, he stepped forward to take the kid's chin in his hand, feeling light stubble against his palm.

"What happened?" he asked low, almost unconsciously rubbing the pad of his thumb against Matt's bottom lip. There was a split in the middle. "What's this, Matt? What happened?"

"Oh, that. Bill happened." Matt's eyes were slightly dazed and his lips remained parted, warm puffs of air sweeping against the calloused finger still brushing his mouth. McClane felt as if his face turned to stone and Matt must have seen something in his eyes, because he hastened to explain: "No! No, it's not, uh. See, Bill, he's teaching me to spar. I asked him. Because, I wanted to know how, you know, a little self-defense and all. I asked you, but you said you didn't have the time--"

"Yeah, I remember," McClane said stiffly. There had been another reason, and it had involved a pretty explicit dream involving Matt's desire to be taught close combat tactics and John's newly established interpretations of 'close' and 'combat', but he wasn't going to let the kid know about any of that. He looked down at Matt's face, upturned, open and trusting, the kid's gaze flicking from his eyes to his mouth, and he opened his mouth to say something; an irritated throat-clearing came from just outside; the agent from before was squinting in, giving McClane's hand resting softly on Matt's jaw a very critical look.

"Need something?" McClane barked and didn't move his hand. Just because.

"We're ready to go," the agent said, properly cowed. McClane dropped his hand, looked down at Matt's inscrutable expression and simply left. He chanced a look back as he was climbing into the helicopter, but Matt's head was down as he was stuffing his electronics into his backpack and then they were gone.

*  
_Wrong time_

*

"Merry Christmas, honey," John murmured in his daughter's ear as she hugged him tightly at the door of her new apartment. "Hey, this is yours."

"Thanks, Daddy." Lucy took the small ficus plant and beamed at it. John felt a place get warm in his chest; it was a long time since his baby girl called him Daddy.

Then she spoiled it completely by glowering at him. "Why are you so late? Nearly everybody is gone, you missed _everything_."

"I don't know why you're surprised at him being late." His ex-wife was buzzing around the still-bare living room, picking up cups and pushing seats back into place. "You should be thankful that he came at all, without a gunshot wound or smelling like smoke and blood." She shot a half-annoyed, half-affectionate look in his direction and John went over to give her a dutiful kiss on her cheek. It still felt weird that they were divorced, it really did, because in spite of everything he loved Holly in a way he figured he couldn't love anybody else.

It hurt a little, yeah. But it didn't _burn_. Not like it used to.

"Where's Matt?" he asked when they were in the kitchen, the last of the guests already escorted out. He was enjoying some pecan pie that Lucy had made. It wasn't bad at all. "I thought he said he was coming over."

"He did, but he left like five minutes before you showed up." Lucy smiled softly as he winked at her over a mouthful of pie.

"He's a sweetheart," Holly declared from the sink. "Maybe he'd be nice for _somebody_."

Lucy wrinkled her nose and said nothing.

"Did he come with anybody?" John asked, too casually, but Lucy's eyes suddenly sharpened; Holly turned around and directed an identical stare in his direction.

John stuffed more pie in his mouth.

"You know, that's the same thing he asked about you, if you were going to show up with somebody," Holly said wonderingly and blinked at John's set expression. "Oh my, god. John?"

"This is really good pie," John said, but Lucy was gaping at him, eyes round.

"Dad!" She screeched. "He's _my_ age!"

"What, so if he was my age, that would be better?" John felt irritable. "How about the fact that he's a _he_?"

There it was, all laid out, that which prevented John from going over to Matt's place and taking everything Matt might be offering. He'd take it and go for seconds, but… but.

Holly wiped the last of the dishes and came over to retrieve John's plate. "Sometimes you get caught up in some pretty strange situations, John," she said, appearing uncomfortable, but determined. That was one thing he'd never stop admiring in Holly. Come to think of it, the kid was as stubborn as fuck too, when he was ready. "But… you've chosen to stay in them, see them through, and damned what everyone else thinks. Even me. So why should something like this be any different?"

"Yeah, Daddy." Lucy was giving him a hard look, but her special soft smile was still playing around her lips.

John exhaled shortly. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

"Like that has ever stopped you before," Holly said that smart, dry way she had and John grimaced.

*

Matt's apartment was in the same neighborhood; as a matter of fact, it was he who had helped Lucy find her new one and John had been pleased and grateful that Matt would be looking out for her that way. It meant a lot more to him than Matt probably knew.

It had taken him only a few minutes to drive over to Matt's apartment and now he was at the door, mouth twisting in a wry smile as Matt opened it and blinked out at him like an abandoned owl.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," he murmured; Matt was dressed in a t-shirt and some sweatpants, his hair damp. His eyes were fixed on John's face, and something in them firmed John's resolve.

"No, I was just… doing some stuff."

John could see the metallic curves of a Bowflex standing in the middle of the apartment and raised his eyebrows. Matt shrugged.

"I met Holly," Matt said carefully as he stepped aside to let John in. "She's… a lot like Lucy. And you. Which is scary."

"Wait 'til you meet my son." John turned to smile at him as Matt leaned against his closed door. "He's a pushover, you'll love him."

Matt didn't say anything else, just looked at him with those dark, heated, hopeful eyes even as John stepped right up to him, feeling predatory and uncontrolled, even as he pressed against his slight frame. Matt's hand went tentatively to his waist, anchoring him and squeezing lightly as John bent his head close.

Matt's mouth tasted so fucking _good_, and John exhaled harshly, snaking a hand around the back of his neck and trying to pull him in closer than before. It was different and yet so fundamentally the same, the hard line of Matt's cock pressing against his through the material of his jeans and Matt's sweatpants. Strange; but he was an adaptable kind of guy. He'd get used to it, because this was _Matt_.

"What do you want to do," Matt whispered as they broke apart, fingers clenched tightly into the front of John's shirt as if he was afraid that John would run away. "We could do anything you want. I mean, I mean, you _know_ I'm not too big on any tying-up stuff, but we can try anything you want, I'll--"

John kissed him again and Matt literally tried to _climb_ him as their tongues stroked against each other, so John reached around and picked him up. Matt's legs wrapped quickly around his waist and John staggered in the direction of the sole bedroom. The kid was heavier than he looked, but it wasn't like he couldn't handle it.

He could handle a lot of things, he found, as he found himself reclined against the pillows in Matt's astonishingly well-made bed; he watched Matt's fingers shake as he undid the buttons on John's jeans, tilting up his hips to allow Matt to drag them and his boxer-briefs off. His eyes slit in pleasure as Matt settled in between his legs and gave his cock a generous lick. John groaned softly, running his hands through Matt's fine, silky hair as he suckled at the flared head, running the tip of his smart tongue on the underside, tracing the fat vein with wet, eager strokes.

"Fuck, Matt," he groaned as his cock was enveloped into tight, wet heat. "Shit. Where'd you learn to do this?"

Matt pulled back, and gave John a quick nip on the inside of his thigh before answering. "The internet."

John decided he _adored_ the internet, as Matt held him down by his hips and really got into it.

"Oh, _fuck_," he gasped as he came, bucking up into Matt's willing mouth. Matt ran his hands up and down John's trembling thighs, running light fingers over his tensed stomach. As he sat back on his heels, smiling down almost bashfully, John glanced down between his legs.

"Come here," he said, giving Matt an incredulous look. "Damn, Matty, come on up here."

"Don't call me Matty," he grumbled, but it was a half-hearted attempt as he moved up John's sprawled body, straddling him at the hips. John reached for him, catching him around the neck again with one hand, slipping the other past the waist of his sweatpants. He pulled out his hand immediately, accompanied by Matt's disappointed whimper, but he simply licked his palm and went for the long, heavy weight of Matt's cock again, wrapping his hands firmly around the hot hardness. Let it not be said that John McClane wouldn't give his all in any situation. He was McClane. Most times his all was all he had.

"Like that?" he muttered in Matt's ear as he stroked him slowly. He knew what he liked himself, and tried it out on Matt, and was rewarded by Matt's low groans.

"Y-yeah." Matt kissed the side of his face clumsily, and then bit his earlobe.

"One day," John promised him darkly. "One day soon, I'm going to do what you just did to me. And I want to fuck you, Matt."

"Ok," Matt panted agreeably, bucking into the insistent circle of John's hand.

"I want you to fuck me," John continued in a growl and Matt cried out; John held onto him as he shook, feeling Matt's hands dig into his shoulders, catching his mouth in a harsh, frantic kiss.

He rolled them both over to settle Matt's boneless body against the rumpled sheets, taking off his shirt and tossing it into some anonymous corner before stripping Matt and letting him wrap his naked limbs all around John as they lay in calm stillness.

"Hey," Matt finally muttered, and John shook his head at Matt's inability to keep his mouth shut for any long interval of time. "I was here hoping, you know? I mean, I wanted to make some sort of move but I was thinking you'd probably kick my ass, for even thinking that. But you came through," and here he moved his head to press his chin in John's chest and grin up at him impishly, "and you came through most awesomely."

John gave a small snort and gathered Matt even closer. "Yeah, yeah. That's the story of my life."

_Fin._

 


End file.
